Sanctuary
by Angela Pirate Ryoko
Summary: Ash takes Eiji to a special place early Christmas morning


Sanctuary

by Angela 

02-04-03

            My first awareness of Ash was of warmth.  It came through me slowly, expanding to fill the places my blanket didn't cover.  His hand on my head.  His breath on my cheek.  His thigh pressed against the small of my back.  I opened my eyes.

            It was snowing.  Dark shadows slid down the walls and across Ash's face as the heavy snowflakes blotted the light from the lamppost outside.  "Snow?" I asked.  In the whole time I'd been in New York, the bitter cold had yet to yield snow.

            He nodded shortly.  "Merry Christmas.  I want to show you something."  I noticed he had my jacket draped across his lap, and he wore the heavy wool coat he'd bought to fool the police.  

            I slid out from beneath the covers, cringing in the cold, unmoving air.  For once I was glad for the habit of sleeping in my clothes; I pulled my jacket over my arms and jammed my feet into a pair of shoes.  "All right," I whispered, unwilling to break the still night with my voice.  "What time is it?"

            Ash tossed me a stocking cap.  "After two," he answered softly.  

            I crammed the hat over my uncombed hair and followed him out the door.  The snow was falling slowly, fat flakes visible in the night sky.  The sidewalks were already dusted, and we left twin trails of footprints on the concrete.         

            "Where are we going?" I asked him, walking quickly to keep up.  

            We paused at a crosswalk, waiting for the intersection--still somehow heavy with traffic--to clear.  A neon light splashed orange and Ash looked fierce beneath its glow.  "I want to show you something," he repeated.  The light changed and we walked.

            Clearly, this wasn't going to be one of our more social outings.  I followed doggedly in his footsteps, my hands buried deep in my pockets.  It was Christmas morning, if barely, and the night was appropriately silent.  Even the traffic noises seemed muffled under the growing blanket of snow, and holiday lights blinked their tiny pinpricks around fire escapes and windows.  

            It was nothing like Christmas in Tokyo.  The year before, I had met some teammates at Shibuya, going out for karaoke with the girls track team to celebrate the holiday.  The streets had been filled with young people, coupled and close and exchanging gifts beneath the glare of street lights.  The solemn stillness of this Christmas in New York was enthralling.

            I don't know how many blocks we walked or how many words we exchanged.  Ash's face wore a faraway expression and I didn't want to intrude.  I wondered what he wanted to show me at two in the morning, what could possibly mean so much to him that he wouldn't talk about it.

            When he stopped in front of a church, I was surprised.

            "You're a Christian?" I asked, forgetting that so many Americans were.  

            Ash laughed, his mouth twisting into a grimace.  "Not exactly, but I used to be.  My mother was Catholic."

            He tugged on the sleeve of my jacket and started up the stairs.  I followed after a moment.  I'd never been to a church before.  Ash held the huge wooden door open for me.  I stepped inside.

            It smelled like wood polish and candles.  We stood in the small entryway, brushing snow from each other, and I was trying to see whatever I could in the dim light.  

            "Aslan!"  An old man hobbled in from a nearby doorway.  "You haven't been back since last Christmas!  I was worried."

            Ash's stern face melted into an affectionate smile.  "I couldn't stay away forever, Father O'Brien," he said softly.  "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner."

            The priest put his hand on Ash's shoulder.  "You're here now, my son," he said, smiling.  "That's what truly matters."  He glanced over Ash's shoulder at me, including me in his smile.  "And who is your friend?"

            Before Ash could speak, I stepped around him, offering my hand to the father.  "My name is Okimura Ei--er, Eiji Okimura. Good to meet you."

            "Aslan has never brought anyone before.  Welcome, Eiji."  Even in the dimness I could tell that his eyes were blue and shining.  They looked much younger than the rest of his face, which to me seemed ancient.

            "Come in, come in."  Father O'Brien ushered us from the vestibule and into a huge chapel.  "You boys have missed midnight mass, but I'm sure He won't mind if you stay to warm your bodies and ease your hearts." 

            I watched Ash dip his fingers in a basin of water near the door.  He made the sign of the cross with his wet hand; I wasn't sure of the significance, but it seemed that Ash was barely aware he did it.  It seemed to me that this place had some sway over him, whether he considered himself a Christian or not.

            I fell behind as we walked, my eyes drawn to the vaulted ceiling and huge stained glass windows.  They were dark with the night behind them, but where street lamps shined I could make out figures, as though the windows themselves told stories.  In the front, upon a dais and beneath an arch painted in silver stars, was an altar clothed in deep red fabric.  The candles surrounding it flickered, their light glinting on gold candlesticks.

            It was like nothing I'd seen.  Even the rich colors of a Shinto shrine seemed to pale beside the opulence of this church.  It was amazing, right down to the carpet: though worn down the center of the aisle, it was still vivid scarlet. 

            "Do you like it?"  Ash leaned against me as he whispered.  "When I was little, my Mom used to bring me and Griff to a church like this one." 

            I was overwhelmed.  There was no question that the church was beautiful, but its silence was heavy, like the snow outside.

            A balcony spanned about a third of the chapel, held up by carved wooden columns.  There seemed to be more seats up there, and I wondered if the view from above could be any more fantastic.  Handmade tapestries hung on the walls near the altar--I tried to read them but didn't recognize the words.  "They're in Latin," Ash explained when he noticed me trying to sound them out.    

            Ash and Father O'Brien paused, taking seats on one of the long, wooden benches that filled the room.  They talked softly, their heads bent close together, and I knew I was free to explore.  

            There was a nativity scene set up in front of the altar, complete with angels and shepherds and the baby in the manger.  It wasn't something I'd seen often in Japan, but the image was familiar enough to recognize.  There were also stone statues on either side of the chapel, but it was the pictures that ended up really grabbing my attention.  A series of paintings hung on the walls, one between each window--they seemed strangely small in a place that had such large-scale art.  I crept over for a closer look.

            The pictures were marked with Roman numerals, thirteen in all, and seemed to depict a story.  I studied them for a long time, searching my mind for a tale that could correspond.  I didn't really know anything about Christianity, so I wasn't surprised to draw a blank.

            I was distracted by the sound of Ash mumbling.  His voice was quiet, wavering.  I'd never heard him sound like that before.

            "So you seek absolution?"  The priest's voice sounded troubled.  I tried not to notice them in what could only be a private discussion, but I'd strayed too close to miss the hushed tones of their voices.

            "No."  Ash shook his head, his eyes downcast.  "No, I don't expect that.  I only wanted someone else to know--to know all of this."

            I looked away, refocusing my attention on the picture-story.  I was embarrassed to have witnessed a private moment; I wondered if Ash would regret bringing me if he thought I overheard. 

            In one of the paintings a man--I assumed he was Jesus Christ--had stumbled beneath the weight of the cross he carried, and another man came from the crowd to help him.  It was beautiful, the way Jesus looked up at this man, his expression a mixture of gratitude and sadness.  I stared at that picture until their faces deteriorated into brushstrokes and pigments.  

            "Simon."  Father O'Brien stood behind me, though I hadn't heard his approach.  "He carries the cross when Jesus falters."

            I wanted to touch the canvas, but kept my hands in my pockets.  "He cares for him.  It is good that Jesus has a friend to help him."  I felt a little foolish for this observation.  My cheeks flushed.

            Father O'Brien shook his head.  "No.  Jesus asks Simon to give it back.  It is his cross to bear."

            I looked again at the faces in the painting.  Suddenly the sadness seemed to outweigh the gratitude.  Somehow that didn't seem quite right.

            "Don't bear Aslan's crosses for him, Eiji Okimura."  The priest lowered his voice a quiet rasp.  "They are too heavy for you."  He glanced over his shoulder to where Ash lit candles at the feet of a female statue.  His face looked very old and very tired.  "I'm afraid they'll be too heavy even for Aslan, in the end."

            I understood the old man's compassion and his motives.  He was trying to help, trying to protect me from the very things that kept me awake in the middle of the night.  "Unlike your Jesus," I responded slowly, "Ash is no god.  When his crosses become too heavy, he'll need me."

            I left Father O'Brien standing there; I felt his sad gaze on me as I walked away.  Not wanting to bother Ash in his quiet candle-lighting ritual, I climbed the stairs to the balcony and found a seat near the railing.  The church was even more magnificent from above, but I had lost my wonder.  I knew that Ash's burdens were too heavy--I knew they would be too heavy for both of us eventually, but I'd hoped that an end would come to this before then.

            It seemed that Christmas was the only reprieve he would get.

            I'd been staring at the candles for a long time when Ash finally came up the steps and slid onto the hard wooden bench beside me.  He leaned his arms over the rail and gazed at the silver stars, eye-level on the ceiling.  "Thanks for coming with me," he said quietly.  He jostled my leg with his knee in an awkward caress.  "Every time I come, I light a candle for my mother.  Tonight I lit one for Griff, too.  And Skip, and Shorter."  

            I didn't know how to respond.  I'd been partially responsible for all three of those deaths.  "I'm sorry," I said for the millionth time, knowing that it'd never be enough.

            Ash looked at me, startled.  His green eyes were troubled.  "I don't think I would've made it without you," he said seriously.

            I don't know how we came to that moment of staring into one another's eyes, but I suddenly realized that if Ash had been a girl, I would've kissed him.  If I had been a girl, I would've been kissed.  And yet, neither of us moved, and I wondered why.  

            Still, when we finally looked away, my mind buzzed as if we had kissed.  I dropped my head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his neck against my forehead.  I wanted to tell him that I'd protect him, but it felt foolish even in my head.  So far I'd never had much opportunity to do much more than hide behind his broad shoulders and semiautomatic weapons.

            "I told Father O'Brien about you--about us being friends."  I could feel the words rumble in his throat.  "He asked if we were lovers."

            Lovers.  There were so many different meanings wrapped up in that one little word.  Some of them seemed to apply to us, but others were so far off that it made me blush to think of them.  "What did you tell him?"

            For a moment his breathing stopped and he made a tiny sound in his throat.  Then he sighed, leaning his head so it brushed against mine.  "The truth."

            I spent a long time wondering which truth he meant.  There was truth in our not-kissing, an awareness that not kissing can be a choice only when kissing is also an option.  But there was another truth, probably a greater one.  This was the truth of our friendship, of knowing that our sanity and sometimes our very lives depended on the presence of the other.  It was what kept me up nights, waiting until I knew with sight and sound and touch that he was still alive.

            Ash left me to my thoughts and after a while we trudged downstairs to say goodnight to Father O'Brien.

            "I'm sorry we kept you up," I said as we were leaving, embarrassed that the old man had been forced to wait for us.

            He laughed.  "Oh, no.  It seems the older I get, the less I sleep.  By the time I'm ninety I won't need to sleep at all."  He clapped us each on one shoulder, smiling.  "You boys be careful, and don't wait for another holiday before you come back to visit me."

            Ash promised and we were outside again, buttoned and zipped up against the cold.  It was still snowing, and somehow the night was even more still than it had been just an hour or so before.  I glanced at Ash as we walked--his eyes were forward and his face as stoic as it had been on the way there.  Snow clung to his hair--almost white on white in the washed-out color scheme of night.

            He was beautiful, and I felt my face go hot with the flush of things I knew too little about.

            "What is 'absolution'?"  I stumbled over the word, having never heard it until that night.  The priest had offered it to Ash and he had declined. 

            Ash glanced at me and then away.  "It means forgiveness.  It means that all the bad stuff I've done just sort of goes away, like it never happened."

            My mind unwillingly leaped to that night at Golzine's mansion, when Ash mowed so many people down with a machine gun.  They had been bad guys, but still, they were people he had killed.  "How is that possible?" I asked.

            "It's not.  At least, not the way he meant it."  He shoved his hands more deeply into his pockets.  "My only absolution comes from knowing it's them or me, from protecting my friends."  He shrugged and looked up at the sky.  "Maybe I'm going to hell, but at least I'll go knowing that I kept you safe."

            It seemed to me that Ash's absolution was a poor substitute for what Father O'Brien offered, but that was what made it real.  I knew Ash would never forgive himself for the things he'd been forced to do, and that it wouldn't do him any good to hear that I forgave him and believed in him.  

            I stopped walking and put a hand on Ash's arm.  He looked into me, waiting.  "Thank you," I whispered, aware that there weren't really words--in English or Japanese--to explain what I really meant, what I really felt.

            He understood.  His mouth pulled into a ghost of a smile and his eyes softened.  Before I could react, he yanked him against him, wrapping his arms around my shoulders.  I fumbled awkwardly for a place to put my hands, and wound up sliding them around his waist.

            I leaned my head against his chest.  It was strange for me to be so near to anyone, and yet it felt natural for it to be Ash.  He squeezed me tightly and I found myself hugging him back.

            We walked the rest of our journey home in contented silence, and even after we'd shed our coats and climbed into our respective beds, I felt the warmth of him against me in the snow, heard the tremble in his voice when he talked about forgiveness.  The church was a beautiful place--one I'd remember forever--but I think we were both aware of the true sanctuary that we had in each other.


End file.
